


C is for Coffee

by ioanite



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Alphabet Soup Challenge, Challenge Response, Coffee, Gen, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioanite/pseuds/ioanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody on The Lydia knows one thing about life on board; always be prepared if the captain has to be woken up in the wee hours of the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C is for Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Another fill for Lokei's Alphabet Soup Challenge, and my personal favorite of the lot.

The sound of drums woke Bush up ten seconds before the pounding on his door began. “Come in!” he barked, already out of his cot and beginning to dress.

Midshipman Savage poked his head in the door. “Ship sighted off the port bow, Lieutenant Bush. She won’t reply to our signals—turned right away from us, in fact. We think she’s a Frenchman, sir.”

“All right, I’ll be on deck in a minute. Have you informed Captain Hornblower about this?”

Savage suddenly looked chagrined. “Not yet, sir.”

“Why the bloody hell not? You should have awakened him before you came to me!”

“I…that is, sir…”

“Spit it out, man!”

“We need to draw straws, sir. None of us want to go in there, especially not at three in the morning.”

“Why on…” And then Bush remembered. He gave what he hoped was an indulgent smile. “Ah. Very well, Savage. Nevertheless, please alert Captain Hornblower before myself in the future.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” Savage saluted nervously and turned to go. Bush called him back, arching an eyebrow. “Should Captain Hornblower ask why I was woken up before him, I will cite overenthusiam instead of the _true_ reason. Do not think, however, that I am being overly generous; I simply do not wish to see a decent bunch of midshipmen torn to ribbons.”

Savage nodded, his eyes showing that he understood the message. Bush smiled grimly as the young man shot from the doorway. He threw on his jacket and headed toward the galley.

***

Polwheal had just finished dressing when Lieutenant Bush threw the door open. “Lieutenant Bush,” He said calmly, knuckling his forehead respectfully, “I was just about to deal with the galley. Hide the silver, douse the fires, and the like.”

“That can wait,” Bush said curtly, “And as for the fires, don’t put them out quite yet. You’ll need to make something first.”

Polwheal was a little nonplussed. Then Bush said, “The mids are about to wake up Captain Hornblower.” and he immediately understood. “Of course, sir. Forgive me for being a little slow on the uptake. This is the first time something like this has happened this early in the morning.”

Bush nodded. “Just get a pot boiling, quickly. I don’t need the poor man who draws the short straw to come back without a hand.”

Polwheal saluted again as Bush disappeared from the doorway. Then he dashed into the galley to begin boiling the water.

***

Savage closed his eyes and rolled the straws around in his hands, allowing them to mix in with each other. After he’d counted to five, he opened his eyes and held out his hand to the four other midshipmen. “Into the hands of fate.” he said, trying to make a joke of it. The other four remained deadly serious as they chose a straw and pulled. Assuming the worst, Savage opened his hand.

The straw was long. He sighed with relief, then looked up to see who the unfortunate wretch was. His eyes landed on Jenkins, who was a good five years younger than Savage and who had gone dead pale. He patted Jenkins on the back, well-aware that the man had never had the singular pleasure of waking up Captain Hornblower, but had heard enough stories and jokes to be scared of them. “Steady now, Jenkins. Just rap on the door. If you get no response, dash in, shake him hard, think of the service for two minutes, give him the information, then run for your life.”

Jenkins nodded, licking his lips nervously. He looked up at Savage with eyes the size of cup saucers. “Will you do me a favor, Savage?”

“What is it?”

“It’s too late for last rites…but say a prayer for me.”

Savage nodded and pushed Jenkins towards the door. “Just get going.”

Jenkins approached the door as if it was about to bite him. Savage was too occupied with the promised prayer to pay too much attention to what happened next, but when he’d lifted his head, Jenkins was gone. He and the other three mids stood together with bated breath. Savage began counting down in his head.

_Five…four…three…two…_

At “one”, there was a growl that could be heard clearly through the closed door. Thirty seconds later, Jenkins came flying out the door and ran right past the other midshipman, heading for the relative safety of the topsails. Savage turned to the others. “Any wounds?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“Good. He’ll probably be deaf for a day or so, but the battle would’ve done that to him anyway.” He jerked his thumb, and they scattered, not wanting to be in the way should Captain Hornblower come up on deck.

***

Matthews, the one who had noticed the ship, leaned against the mast, waiting patiently to give his report to the Captain. He’d seen this routine countless times in the past five years, and he was used to it. He was, however, grateful that he would never be the one having to draw straws.

Bush came up to him. “Anything yet?”

“The worst is over now, sir. We just have to wait for Polwheal to work his magic.”

“Tell me honestly, Matthews. Was it this bad in the beginning?”

“No, sir,” Matthews said, as he always did, “But then, he wasn’t a captain when I first knew him, sir. If it _was_ this bad, he kept it to himself until he was in a position to actually do something about it. I think it just developed over time, personally.”

Bush nodded, looking back at the door to the Captain’s quarters. “I hope it kicks in soon. We’ll be on the Frenchman soon.”

At that moment, Captain Hornblower strolled out of his cabin, his pace brisk. “Where is she?” he said, as soon as he reached the two of them. Bush handed him the spyglass and pointed. “We’re gaining on her, sir. She’s unsure whether to flee or fight.”

Hornblower was all business. “We’ll help her make up her mind. Send a man down to the gun crews and tell them to load the cannons. We’ll give her a shot across the bows and see what she does.”

Bush nodded and moved away. Hornblower turned to Matthews. “Your report, please, Matthews. I want to be completely filled in by the time we’ve fired that shot.”

***

Horatio ran a hand through his hair as he closed the door to his cabin. Bush grinned over at him. “Not a bad morning’s work, eh, Horatio? One less ship for Boney to control, and one more prize for our ship.”

Horatio smiled back at him. “Fine work indeed, Mr. Bush. Give the men an extra ration of rum this evening.”

Bush nodded. Then Horatio turned to a slightly more delicate matter, his face already beginning to turn red. “Mr. Bush, what sort of man would be best suited for bringing the prize ship to port?”

Bush, not recognizing where Horatio was going, gave it some thought. “It’s not a particularly rough ship to handle, but we are fairly far from an English port. I’d give it to the third or fourth lieutenant, sir.”

Horatio sighed. So much for _that_ idea. “Very well, Mr. Bush, I’ll leave you to make the arrangements.”

Bush saluted. When he took his hand down, he had clearly noticed that Horatio was blushing. “What’s troubling you, Captain?”

Horatio sat down heavily at his desk and put his face in his hands. “What poor, scarred-for-life midshipman to I have to invite to dinner and apologize to, William?”

“Oh,” Bush said, trying his best to conceal amusement, something Horatio was grateful for, “I’m not sure, sir. I’ll ask around. I’m never kept up to date on these matters.”

Horatio shook his head. “You don’t need to protect anyone, William. I’m well aware of the system the midshipmen use to decide who wakes me up before dawn. I may not approve, but I’m aware it’s necessary.”

“May I speak freely, Horatio?”

“Yes.” Horatio answered dryly, knowing what was coming.

“Have you given a thought to cutting back, sir?”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. But I’m not quite sure you understand, William. I _need_ a cup of coffee in the morning. It’s the only way to get me fully alert.”

“And woe betide anyone who gets in your way until you’ve had it.”

“I sent my condolences to that poor boy’s mother, didn’t I? And what’s a midshipman with a heart condition doing on a ship of war, anyway?”

Bush didn’t answer. All he said was, “At least try to keep the volume to a minimum.”

“I’ll do my best, William,” Horatio said wearily, “You’re dismissed.”

Once Bush was gone, he sent for Polwheal. Polwheal took one glance at him and said, “Need a cup of coffee, sir?”

Horatio shook his head. “Find the strongest alcohol on board, and bring me a glass. I have a dinner to survive.”


End file.
